The False Inspector Dew

13

The ship had been under way again for nearly an hour when Paul Westerfield got his chance to see the purser. The Cherbourg passengers had all been checked. The coconut matting in the embarkation lobby was being taken up. Stacks of luggage waited to be moved. Paul joined the queue of passengers with queries. When his turn came and he started to explain about his billfold, he had the feeling that the purser recognized him, and it was confirmed.

'You're Mr Westerfield, aren't you, sir?'

'Why, yes. How did you..?'

'It's my job to know the passengers, sir. You're travelling with a young lady from England.'

'No. She left the ship at Cherbourg. She was seeing me off' 'I understand. And your wallet has gone. Can I enquire how much it contained?'

'Just over a thousand dollars and my chequebook. Also some photographs, club membership cards and my visiting cards. It's a black leather thing. It has my initials on the front. P.W.'

'Would you wait a moment, sir?' The purser took a key from his pocket and went to a small wall-safe. He could not have been more than thirty-five. He had mastered the art generally practised by elderly English butlers of conveying infinite varieties of meaning through a limited stock of innocuous phrases. It was unwise to press such people. He took Paul's billfold from the safe, it was handed in about an hour ago, sir. I had one of my assistants put it away, for safe keeping.'

'I'm deeply obliged to you.'

'I should check the contents if I were you, sir.'

'Sure.' He opened it and counted the money. 'How about that? It's all there. Every last bill. And the chequebook. Say, who was it handed this in? I'd like to thank the guy personally.'

'A Mr Gordon, sir. An English gentleman. His stateroom is situated on A Deck, above us. Number 26.'

'I'll go there right away. I'd like to buy him a couple of drinks. It's good to know there are still honest people about.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Why, yes.' Paul opened the billfold again. 'Thank you, purser.'

'Thank you, sir.'

In stateroom 26, Jack Hamilton, alias Jack Gordon, toyed with a deck of playing cards. He cut them into two packs. He put them face down on the bedside table and brought them together, riffling them in the usual way, raising the corners so that the cards intermingled. He brought the packs smoothly together, or almost so. He kept them at a slight angle to each other, and slipped the left pack through the right. He completed the move by putting the left bunch on top of the right. The order of the cards was undisturbed. It was a very neat pull-through.

Jack was the man who had recruited Poppy. He was a boatman. A boatman was a professional gambler who worked the ocean liners. The Atlantic crossing was ideal for a game of cards, or, better still, a series. Scores of boatmen made a living on the liners. Jack had learned the game by observation. He had been on ships before the war. He had seen the boatmen working. In those days they would sit around the smoking room and wait to see which pigeons came for plucking.

Now it was more professional. Nothing was left to chance. They examined the passenger list days before sailing. They selected their mark. They checked his business holdings. They took stock of his real estate. They decided how much to take him for. They used accomplices like Poppy to bait the trap.

There was more to it than that. They studied the crew lists as well. They checked the names of the pursers and the masters-at-arms. They worked all the Atlantic lines, White Star, Cunard, Hamburg-Amerika, North German Lloyd, Transat, Holland America, Canadian Pacific and Pierpont Morgan's half-dozen American lines. If they used the same ship again, it was always after eighteen months or more. Even then, they reckoned never to make the strike at sea. They spent the crossing setting up the victim. They cleaned up in Manhattan, in the mark's hotel. In England they would sometimes play the last game in a compartment of the boat train.

Jack travelled without much luggage. He needed two lounge suits, an evening suit, some reassuring neckties and a range of shirts and underclothes. He carried cigarettes, seed money and his pack of cards. He used the cards only to practise with. All games on board were played with packs bought from the smoking room stewards.

There came the knock he was expecting. He put the cards away in a drawer. He went to the door.

It was the mark. 'Mr Gordon, we haven't met. My name is Westerfield. Paul Westerfield II. I apologise for intruding on you. I just wanted to express my gratitude to you for handing in my billfold.'

'Ah, it was yours then. I hope nothing is missing.'

'Not a cent. Look, Mr Gordon, would you give me the chance to convey my thanks by buying you a couple of drinks?'

'Forget it, Mr Westerfield. There's no need. I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather not.'

'Please. I insist.'

'I'm not really a drinking man. Bar stools give me backache, to be honest.'

'A coffee after dinner, then, with a glass of brandy. We can take it in the lounge.'

'You've tempted me.'

'Good. I'll look out for you. Did I say my name is Paul?'

'Mine is Jack. I'll look forward to it, Paul.'

When the door closed, Jack took out the cards again.